


Synthesis

by poes



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Original Character/Banshee-44, hi i'm in love with jonquil-9, mlm author, pretty much purely fluff, unadulterated pining fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 05:46:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12881430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poes/pseuds/poes
Summary: Still, Jonquil comes out often to tend to the plants on the balcony. Banshee tries very hard to look preoccupied when he does, not wanting to get caught looking again, but out of the corner of his eye he can see Jonquil inhaling the fresh air, tipping his faceplates into the sunlight that comes shining down during mid-day.Banshee’s workstation is under an outcropping, so he doesn’t feel the sunlight often.He thinks Jonquil looks warm, and then studiously gets back to polishing the gun on his worktable.---Banshee's got a crush on the warlock across the Tower.





	Synthesis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beenomorph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beenomorph/gifts).



> Hi everyone! This is my v first commission fic for a friend I would increasingly die for, Benji.
> 
> I want you all to know I'd give my life for Jonquil, who you can also fall in love with by looking at him [here](http://rewhined.tumblr.com/post/166275348928) and all of Benji's wonderful art of him.
> 
> I hope you like it, Benji. ;A;

Every morning, the Exo comes out to water his flowers.

Banshee doesn’t have the most reliable memory. He knows that.

But he knows this; when the sun peeks over the edge of the horizon, there’s a gleam of orange in the corner of Banshee’s peripheral vision. He’ll look up, thinking he will know what he’ll see, and be greeted with the Exo carefully watering the plants he has on the balcony outside what Banshee presumes is his workspace. The man glows under daylight, a beacon, and just as bright as the life he surrounds himself with. They’re unusual plants, but beautiful and well cared for. Loved, treasured.

Banshee likes the other man far before he learns his name. 

“Jonquil-9,” says Amanda, noticing him looking one day, “He’s really, uh… smart. Has a lot of thoughts about a lot of things. Likes plants. Cool paint job, huh?”

“Yeah,” Banshee hums, watching as Jonquil’s antennae flick up in interest as he turns to talk to his Ghost. The Exo’s ocular lights glow bright with amusement at something it says. “I see him a lot. Up there. He only comes by here every so often.” Banshee remembers his face now, if he concentrates. He always seemed a little nervous. Not much of a talker, usually just stopped for a mod or two, if Banshee is thinking right.

“He doesn’t do a lot of field work,” Amanda explains, leaning over his counter and grabbing one of his solar weapon mods. She drops credits in their place and Banshee doesn’t bother checking if it’s right; she’s probably left him extra. “He’s more of like… a scholar. Stereotypical warlock, y’know? The Vanguard go and talk to him sometimes when they need info on the enemy. Especially the Fallen.”

Banshee hums again, looking up at Jonquil once more only to suddenly meet his eyes.

Embarrassment floods him at being caught watching, but before he can snap his gaze away, Joey’s antennae flick straight up and he twirls in a tight circle, retreating back inside.

“Hm,” Banshee says.

Amanda shrugs and gives him an affectionate punch to the shoulder. “Don’t work too hard,” she calls, and starts back to the hangar.

“Don’t die,” he responds, the camaraderie between them easy as ever.

He lets his eyes flick back up to the balcony. Jonquil will probably come back out to look at his plants again at some point today.

He certainly is eye-catching.

 _Probably the paint job,_ Banshee thinks, and bends down under his counter to pull out his gun polish.

——

After that, Banshee can’t help himself from… watching.

Jonquil spends most of his time inside. Banshee wonders what all he’s doing. Now that he’s paying attention, he can see that Guardians will sometimes clamber their way up to the other man’s office, and come out with thoughtful expressions on their faces, murmuring amongst themselves, sometimes arguing.

Still, Jonquil comes out often to tend to the plants on the balcony. Banshee tries very hard to look preoccupied when he does, not wanting to get caught looking again, but out of the corner of his eye he can see Jonquil inhaling the fresh air, tipping his faceplates into the sunlight that comes shining down during mid-day. 

Banshee’s workstation is under an outcropping, so he doesn’t feel the sunlight often.

He thinks Jonquil looks warm, and then studiously gets back to polishing the gun on his worktable.

It turns into a kind of game. The both of them resolvedly not making eye contact, even though they’re positioned in a way that almost draws the eye towards each other. Well, in Banshee’s case, anyway; Jonquil is a bright man amongst colorful flowers and green leaves, glowing in whatever light the Traveler isn’t blocking from the sun. 

Banshee begins to ask himself how more people don’t stare at him when he comes out. It’s like he’s begging to be looked at, but _begging_ is the wrong word; Banshee doesn’t need to be asked.

“Oh boy,” he mutters to himself, feeling a circuit snap with electricity somewhere in his stomach. Not the poetics.

This is ridiculous. They haven’t spoken more than a few words to each other, and that was just… business.

But whatever. It was fine. He’d had little infatuations before; they tended to fade away with time. He’d just… give it time, then. A superficial crush based on appearances was something that he could deal with.

And so he tried. Every morning, Jonquil would come out and water his plants, chatting amiably with his Ghost. Sometimes, Banshee could hear the faint rumble of his voice, but not clearly enough to hear what he was saying; just a soothing hum. On quiet mornings on the Traveler, he thinks he can hear laughter from the balcony, but dismisses it as wishful thinking. He can admit to himself that he’s straining to hear things, sometimes.

Ashamedly, but he _can_ admit it.

It probably would’ve faded away into a passing fancy if it weren’t for the guardian that bashed her way down to his station one afternoon after tumbling from Jonquil’s station moments before. Banshee flicks his eyes up; Jonquil is on the balcony, staring down at the two of them with his antennae pinned. When he sees Banshee looking, he retreats, but before Banshee can think about why, the guardian is there on his counter.

 _On_ his counter. Leaning half her upper body on it.

“Hey, Banshee,” says the human, loudly. Banshee tries to conjure up a name, but the woman is talking too emphatically to be ignored. “No weapon can shoot through a Phanlanx’s shield, right? Like, it’s impossible, right? Like you just gotta shoot the orange diamond?”

The guardian swings around to point directly at the room that houses the apple of Banshee’s eye. “Dude said you’d know about a gun that could shoot through shields, but I’m calling bull.”

Banshee’s processors whir to life as he realizes he gets to talk about guns. “Actually,” he replies, standing up straight and going to the back of his station to rummage around. He makes a satisfied noise when he finds what he’s looking for, and returns to the front, where the human guardian looks suddenly less sure of herself. Banshee flattens a blueprint out on the counter. “You can use this. Skyburner’s Oath. Extended mag, extended barrel… but it fires slug shots. Aren’t many of these, but it has the power to pierce through—”

 _“What?_ You mean I’ve been getting my ass kicked this whole time for no reason?”

Banshee huffs, irritated at being cut off. It’s not like he talks much anyway. The least people could do was listen. “There’s probably a reason.”

The human seems to struggle with whether or not to be insulted, but eventually just mutters that she doesn’t _need_ the gun and wanders off, pride obviously stung.

Banshee watches her go, and then looks back up at the balcony, curiosity sparking in him with renewed interest as he once again wonders what the man is up to.

 _Alright,_ he tells himself, _let’s just do this._

If he can talk to the guy, he’ll get over his fascination. Sure, Jonquil seemed like this almost untouchable… something. But no one stayed that fascinating once you actually talked to them. It’d stave off the infatuation if he just stopped putting it off and… did it.

“‘Kay,” he mutters, and considers leaving a sign or something, but shrugs it off. If they need the gun repaired, they’ll wait.

He steps out from behind his counter and sets off toward Jonquil, feeling… strange.

For all this thoughts that Jonquil didn’t get out much, it seems like he hasn’t walked across the Traveler for anything besides getting to and from his station… in as long as he can remember.

Which isn’t worth much, but still.

It takes him a minute to find the way up to the man’s office. He’s never had any reason to go in this particular part of the Tower. After a moment of brief confusion that almost leads him to just retreating back to his station again, he catches sight of two guardians obviously leaving his place and walks past them, climbing the stairs here and there until he finally spots Jonquil, sitting at a desk and rubbing the top of his head with both hands.

Banshee pauses before entering.

The room is covered in plants. For some reason, he hadn’t pictured the inside of the office, but… everywhere he looks, there’s something alive, something bright and eye-catching. In a couple of clear cases, there are insects; pretty wings flash as they flit from here to there in their homes.

Color, everywhere. It suited its owner.

Somehow, he finds himself more charmed than ever as he turns back to the man who tended to all this.

Jonquil hasn't seemed to notice him yet, looking down at little notepads on his desk, so Banshee jumps when the man suddenly speaks up.

“Give me just a minute, I’m almost done with this.”

“Alright,” he responds easily, and just like that, Jonquil’s head snaps up with something like alarm. They meet eyes.

“Oh—” The other Exo straightens up immediately and rises from behind the desk, quickly circling around so he’s around the front side. Banshee watches his antennae perk and flick a little and feels another pulse of odd fondness.

“Banshee,” Jonquil says, and for some reason, actually hearing his own name in the man’s voice is startling. He isn’t just thinking about talking to the botanist; he’s really doing it. Banshee fights down nerves. “I’m sorry, if I’d known it was you– uh– what do you need?” After his brief fluster, Jonquil seems to compose himself, a calm and collected look settling over his face.

Banshee wishes he felt the same way.

“Uh, sorry to bother you,” he says, feeling a phantom closing of his throat even though that should be mechanically impossible. “I just… that guy down there said you knew about Skyburner’s Oath. Not many people know about it, is all, and I guess I just… realized we hadn’t really talked much… even though we kinda see each other every day, or… somethin’…”

He really doesn’t spend enough time from behind his desk. Jonquil’s steady gaze is enough to make his circuits spark.

However, the other Exo seems to brighten a little under the observation. “Yeah, I’m… well, I do a lot of research into our enemies. If I didn’t know what weapons worked best against them I probably wouldn’t be good at my job.”

“Right,” Banshee says, suddenly remembering Amanda mentioning that. “You’re the guy the Vanguard comes to for info. I guess I was just surprised… you don’t come down to the shop much, so…” The gunsmith’s eyes rove over the walls of the room, struggling to force himself to stay and not bail out from nerves.

Because he’s suddenly realizing that Jonquil is _huge._ Much taller than he’d thought. Warlocks were usually on the slender, small side, but Jonquil is… almost half a foot taller than Banshee. For some reason that makes his abdominal plates cinch tight.

 _Some reason._ He isn’t fooling anyone, least of all himself. It’s hot, that’s the reason.

He hates this. He hasn’t had to deal with this kind of thing in he doesn’t even know how long.

“Ah, I… don’t get out much,” Jonquil replies, laughing a little afterward, and Banshee watches his oral lights glow with the sound. “Sometimes I get a little absorbed in my work.”

“I know how that feels,” Banshee replies, and he does. Hours can be lost in what feels like minutes when you work here.

The two of them meet eyes again, and there is a shared humor between them that instantly begins melting the initial awkwardness.

“I know you do,” Jonquil replies, his voice taking on a sly quality that it hadn’t previously held. “Every time I look down there, you’re polishing a gun. The same gun. Over and over.”

Banshee feels both the desire to defend the assault rifle and to flirt. It’s a strange thing, but what comes out is a playful “Hey, I take care of what’s mine. You can’t tell me that’s a bad trait to have.”

Jonquil’s eyes gleam. “No. Not bad at all. Just funny.”

“You’re the one looking enough to notice it’s the same gun. And that I _give it the attention it needs_ all the time. Maybe you’re the funny one,” Banshee replies, and takes brief satisfaction in the way Joey’s antennae flicker with surprise.

“I’m outside a lot. What do you _want_ me to look at?” The multi-colored Exo pretends to examine his non-existent nails, and Banshee feels a rusty laugh creep out of him before he can stop it.

“I dunno,” he says. “I don’t mind it. It’s not bad.” He lets his voice drop an octave. “Just funny.”

Jonquil blinks once, twice, then chuckles, turning back to his desk and shuffling some of the notepads there. “Right.”

Banshee’s pleased with himself, and takes a few steps closer, trying to peer at what Jonquil’s working on. When he does get a glance, it looks like it’s mostly gibberish; so maybe some stuff about plants. Banshee doesn’t know a lot about them besides watering the ones back on the old Tower, and he can’t remember if he’d been the one to plant them. Probably not; they’d survived, after all.

Before he can spiral into the weird sort of depression not-remembering-things-that-are-dead brings, Jonquil turns back around and seems to jump a little when he sees how close Banshee had become.

Up this close, Banshee can see scars lining Joey’s faceplates, up and along the sides, like lightning. Melted metal, pings from what could be bullets, could be something else. Fascinating. Banshee’s always thought scars were hot, always wanted to know more about how they got there. Why’s a homebody like Jonquil got such dramatic scarring? 

He stares, a little fixated.

Jonquil clears his throat. “Uh.”

“Sorry,” the gunsmith apologizes, quickly, and takes a step back. “Sorry, for… stopping in so suddenly, or whatever, I guess you just… uh… I used to know everyone who worked at the old Tower, and things…” He sighs. “Things are just hard to keep up with. I guess it’s weird for me to not… really know… someone I’m sort of working with? Especially the… the dude that waters flowers above my eyeline on a balcony all… glowing in the sun or whatever.”

Jonquil looks like he doesn’t know quite how to take this. “Oh,” he says, and then rubs a hand over the top of his head to the back of his neck. “... Oh,” quieter now, almost shy. 

The two of them shuffle awkwardly for a minute.

Before Banshee can force something stupid out of himself again, someone stumbles into the door, and they are both blessedly saved.

“Hey, Joey,” says the Awoken, pushing some violet-shaded hair behind his ear without looking up from what he’s carrying; a handful of papers. “You wouldn’t believe what I caught this Cabal doing—”

He does look up, then, and sees Banshee. The man comes to a complete stop, eyebrows shooting up his forehead, before he turns to look at Jonquil.

“Oh,” he says. Banshee wonders why it sounds like he’s smothering a smirk. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

Jonquil’s antennae flatten hard against his head and he snaps a quick “no” in response, briskly moving towards the new arrival and snatching the papers from his hands. Banshee hears him say, very quietly, _“don’t, Pablo”,_ before turning to Banshee and giving him a polite blink of his ocular lights. “I’m sorry, but I… need to look at this. Could you, uh… come back some other time?”

Banshee privately feels both a little disappointed and a little relieved; he’d been struggling with how to continue, but… he didn’t want the conversation to end.

Ain’t that just the way.

He turns, lifting a hand. “Yeah, no, I… have a good one. Don’t work too hard.”

Jonquil hums, his expression turning more genuine. “You, too.”

Pablo isn’t hiding his grin now. “Bye, Banshee.”

Jonquil turns tightly towards the Awoken just as Banshee walks out the door.

He leaves.

And Banshee figures, walking down the steps and briefly lost once more, that that actually hadn’t made it better at all. It had made it much, much worse.

—— 

After that, things change.

Now, when Banshee sees him come out on the balcony, sometimes, if he’s really feeling brave, he’ll make actual eye contact and nod. And Jonquil will nod back. Sometimes, he’ll even wave first, and Banshee doesn’t have to be nervous about it when they acknowledge each other’s existence.

Once, Banshee lifts his gun to show Jonquil that he’s working on the same old assault rifle, and Jonquil’s antennae flicker in what Banshee can only hope is amusement.

Mostly what’s changed though is that Jonquil stops by sometimes.

Usually just on his way to his own office in the mornings, but it’s still something that has Banshee making sure he gets to his workstation before he technically needs to be there. He can admit that that’s a little needy, but nobody needs to know why he takes his coffee with him now instead of drinking it before he leaves his room.

Most times, it’s just a little “hi” or “good morning”, but other times Jonquil stops and looks at him as Banshee sleepily gets his workstation together.

“What’s the story with the rifle?” Jonquil asks at one point, leaning against the counter. His Ghost twirls neatly at his shoulder, her eye roving over the gun and looking just as curious as her companion.

“It’s a secret,” Banshee replies, as he always replies. He can feel amusement creep onto his face. “Maybe I’ll tell you sometime when it’s not 5 am.”

Jonquil chuckles. “Yeah?”

Banshee turns and meets eyes with him. He seizes the opportunity; a test, a taste of the air. “If you want. Sometime. When we both got free time.”

Jonquil blinks at him and abruptly looks down at his fingers, huffing. “Sometime,” he agrees, and the buzzing in Banshee’s chest accelerates to the point that he worries his internal fans are gonna turn on.

“Good,” he responds, a little throatier than he means to, and the pair of them part ways with embarrassing haste.

Another time, Banshee is assuring Cayde that his revolver is _just fine, stop worrying your pointed head about it_ , when Jonquil comes out on the balcony. His eyes find the man naturally, pulled to him like… like one of those old stories you read. What’s the word they use… 

Magnetism. Maybe he’s got magnets somewhere in his wiring. Sometimes it sure feels like it.

Jonquil looks at him, lifts his hand and crooks his fingers in a small wave, and then retreats quietly back inside. Banshee feels a sigh curl from him. Maybe a little too wistful.

Cayde is yammering, but he always yammers. It’s only when he _stops_ yammering that Banshee notices the silence, and pulls his eyes back to the hunter, quickly trying to discern if he’s missed an important question (unlikely).

Cayde is looking at him with the most shit-eating expression an Exo can make on his face.

“Woaaaah, those were some… big ol’ eyes, there, ‘Shee. You sweet on Mr. Dreg-Rights?”

“Stop,” Banshee grits, handing the revolver over to him with a bit more force than necessary. “Actually, just don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m started. It’s too late. I haven’t seen you makin’ googly eyes that hard since that day Shaxx was walking around without his chest piece. Can’t fault you for that, but this? Plant guy? I mean, I see the appeal, don’t get me wrong, but it just doesn’t seem _like_ you to crush on someone so… uh… scholarly. I’d expect like a big badass titan, maybe, or—”

“Cayde,” Banshee growls.

“You like guns, he likes… research. It sounds like a buddy cop movie.” Cayde taps his chin. “Do the buddy cops usually fall in love? They _should.”_

 _“Cayde,”_ Banshee repeats.

Cayde peeks at him innocently, oral lights glowing with a barely concealed grin.

“I have over 100 weapons back here,” Banshee rumbles, “And I’m the gunsmith. I know how to take apart everything you have on you. I could do it with my eyes closed. One-handed. Do you really want to start something?”

The vanguard blinks, then lifts his hands. “Not judging you, bud, just think it’s kinda cute is all. The arms dealer and the peacemaker… it’s like a fairytale. You should talk to him.”

Banshee dips his head. “I’m not discussing this with you.”

“He’s cute! Next time you stare longingly across the way, maybe ask him about golden age plants. Or… the history of… bad guys. He loves that stuff.”

Banshee is already hefting his rifle up off its stand and making to aim it at the other man, but Cayde is hurrying off, hands still up and expression still _horrible._ “Just a suggestion!”

So things aren’t exactly the most subtle that they could be, that much is clear. Painfully.

There are fights going on every day. Banshee is a big part of that, making sure that everyone is well outfitted and properly prepared, building weapons for the guardians that go out there and do what they need to do. His life keeps him busy. Jonquil is obviously busy, too, constantly meeting with the vanguard. Banshee doesn’t see him every day, and on those days he’s usually in his room for hours on end. Banshee can sometimes hear Zavala from his post; sometimes the titan’s vanguard has no inside voice.

But when he isn’t busy, when the day dies down and he’s left with his weapons and no one else, he allows himself the daydreams.

He can’t help it. Jonquil has only become more interesting since their talk. Weirdly, more mysterious. He seems so smart and competent; in comparison, Banshee feels a little busted up, a little slow.

But that doesn’t stop the thoughts that drift through his head, of the man sitting at his desk and poring over notes, maybe murmuring to himself, because that’s cute so it seems like something Jonquil would do. 

He thinks of the scars lining Jonquil’s face. How they’d feel under the pad of his thumb, to feel the parts where the metal burst and split. To be gentle where the world wasn’t.

Shit, he’s in too deep. He can’t keep pretending it’s just infatuation. It’s a full-blown crush, with the way his chest puffs out whenever the culturalist passes by him or comes outside. He wants to impress, even though he oftentimes feels like he’s too old for this kind of thing. Too broken, with a mind like a sifter, letting the little things fall through too fast for him to catch.

But the little things shift to something softer and easier to hold onto when Jonquil is there. The soothing sound of his voice, the small flicks in his antennae and the way he shuffles his papers when he’s talking.

Banshee sighs and rubs his hands over his head.

When he closes his eyes, he sees the other Exo.

It’s almost like sitting in the sunlight.

—— 

It’s a cool night when Banshee finally catches him.

He’s stayed later than he normally does at his post; a big attack against the Cabal had taken place today, and it’d taken him a little longer to get all his stuff done.

He’s just closing up shop when Jonquil comes out of his office. He’d also been all over the place today; he looks slightly harried, or… in the post-harry. Like he needs a drink, maybe, after a long time going, going, going. Relatable.

Banshee looks up at him, different in the silver moonlight; still glowing, but more intimately now with the stars backdropping him. The gold of the sun made him shine, but the silver of the moon gives him an affected, ghostly shimmer, casting him in a light that feels like a secret. Like Banshee’s seeing something people don’t usually see. Like Banshee’s seeing something _he_ hasn’t seen. He feels his chest seize again and considers giving him a wave and making way back to his bed.

Jonquil lets out a visible sigh and slumps against his balcony as he waters his plants. He looks exhausted.

Banshee clicks his mouthplates together and steels himself.

He walks over to look up at Jonquil from closer to the edge of the balcony, and calls up in a slightly louder voice than he’d normally use. “But soft… what light… something or other.”

Jonquil startles, and then looks down at him, one little ear-antennae flicking up. “Banshee?” He pauses. “What did you just say?”

Banshee feels a wave of embarrassment. “Nevermind,” he mutters. “Just wondering if you wanted to… I dunno. Get a drink or something. I could use one… wondered if maybe you could use one too.”

Jonquil looks at him for a long moment, obviously processing this, before the lights behind his eyes start to glow a little brighter. “To be honest, I’m more hungry than anything.”

“We can eat,” Banshee immediately amends.

The other Exo hesitates for another intensely scary moment before he nods. “Let me come down,” he says, and disappears from the balcony.

Immediately, Banshee looks himself over. He’s just wearing his normal clothes. They look fine, he guesses. He wishes he looked better than _fine,_ and kind of hates himself for taking what’s supposed to be something casual too seriously.

His hands are jittery, like when he handles a new gun for the first time. The anticipation, the fight or flight response, _fight, always fight._ Only here he doesn’t need to do either. Just act like a normal person. Easier said than done.

Jonquil appears down the steps and in front of him, and Banshee is painfully reminded of how enormous he is. “Hi,” he greets, a little breathlessly, and the gunsmith feels every little metal part in his body shift with the emotion that passes through him.

“Hi,” he says, and manages to be totally cool about it.

“... So, the ramen place?”

“The ramen place sounds good,” Banshee hums. Especially because they also serve drinks. How thoughtful. Something about the way Jonquil glows a smile at him makes him think he chose it on purpose.

The walk to the shop is mostly quiet. Banshee can feel Jonquil looking at him from the corner of his eye, and if he’s being honest with himself, he’s doing the same thing. Trying to test the waters without saying anything. Banshee’s not a real talkative guy anyway, until guns got involved, but the silence is, for once, not vaguely uncomfortable. Jonquil looks fine without talking; he tips his face into the moonlight and exhales softly, and Banshee finds it’s harder to pretend he isn’t watching, this time.

“It’s nice out tonight,” Jonquil says eventually.

“Yeah,” Banshee replies, tearing his eyes away to look up at the sky. The Traveler is all-encompassing, a great moon with her own orbit. She brings to him a kind of peace, if he could have such a thing. A hope, anyway. She’s woken up and no one knows what will happen now, but it’s like everyone can feel her watching them, and Banshee can only think about it positively. He’s worried too much for one man. 

But beyond her, the night is lit up. The black sky of Earth is dotted with stars and its own moon, all silver-sheened reds and greens and whites. The air is refreshingly cool, enough to wake Banshee up a little when he breathes it in.

“Good night for something warm,” he adds, as they approach the shop, and Jonquil hums agreement.

“And good company,” he replies, casting a look over at Banshee that makes him falter a step. He clears his throat.

“Uh huh.”

The two of them order quickly from the bots at the shop; most everyone else is asleep, but the shop is kept running through the night by a couple of the cleaner bots for those guardians that come in late from missions. Jonquil thanks the bots, and Banshee is charmed because most people don’t do that.

He decides to forego the drink.

They find a spot on the edge of the Tower to sit down, legs dangling over the edge of the wall. Banshee watches his companion, who he thinks he has never seen sitting down so casually. It’s a nice image.

The warm ramen does indeed make the atmosphere better. Conversation is light and quiet; asking about each other’s day, their opinion on the fighting that had happened. Jonquil’s eyes are both angry and troubled at the mention of the attack. Banshee watches him get mildly worked up for a moment before changing the subject to the plants in his room.

Jonquil sets his empty bowl aside. “My friends bring me interesting things they find,” he says, lifting one shoulder in a shrug that should be too cute for a man of his size, but isn’t. “I just think it’s… fascinating. Everything is so fascinating. There’s so much about the planets we run around on that we don’t know. So much about the people we fight that we’re purposefully ignorant on.” He’s still holding his chopsticks, and plays with them a little as he speaks. “If I can help our people learn more about what we’re dealing with… then I should, right?”

Banshee watches him, stomach warming with food and affection. “But mostly it’s just ‘cuz the plants are pretty, right?” he teases.

Jonquil looks up at him with a little affront before realizing he’s joking. He laughs, antennae flicking down and up a couple of times. “Yep, you caught me. That poisonous fern variant that has to be watered thoroughly every 12 hours or it’ll start letting out sleep gas? Just like the leaves, I guess. No big deal.”

Banshee chuckles, looking down at his feet to where they hang over the wall of the Tower. “No, no, it’s… I like… how much you like them. If it hadn’t been for those plants I might’ve never talked to you.”

He glances over at Jonquil, who is looking at him with a curious haze in his eyes. Banshee’s next laugh is more embarrassed. “You know, I just mean… I forget a lotta stuff, Jon, but I dunno if I could forget those times I saw the sun hit you just right on that balcony, if I got wiped a hundred more times. Like a flower all on your own… blooming right in front of me. Just sayin’, is all.”

“... Oh.”

Banshee blinks, realizing just what he’s said, and looks over at Jonquil before he can stop himself.

The other Exo is staring back, and there’s no mistaking the stunned expression on his face. Banshee feels self-consciousness seep into him and he lets out another nervous laugh, covering his faceplates with a hand and trying to rub the shyness out of him. “Sorry, uh, I… get a little… poetic… without meaning to, sometimes. Say shit that comes in my head without thinkin’…”

Jonquil doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Banshee feels his fans start to thrum with embarrassment.

“Uh,” he starts, desperate to find a way to backpeddle, but before he can, Jonquil is scooting closer, without looking at him.

His hand brushes the edge of Banshee’s as he determinedly stares directly at the Traveler. Banshee almost pulls his fingers away out of instinct, but Jonquil is practically glowing pink with the blush Banshee can feel waving off of him, so he stops himself.

They sit for a minute with their pinkies touching and Banshee having an extremely prolonged and impossible heart attack before Jonquil clears his throat.

“That’s… probably the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he mutters.

Banshee watches him. Jonquil is here, opening under the moon like an orchid. With his face tilted up and away, he looks like he’s drinking in the light. Like he always does. Like the photosynthesis keeps him alive, just like the things he surrounds himself with.

But Jonquil’s not a plant, as much as he resembles one. He’s more alive than that.

Banshee feels his chest plates clench as he slowly moves his hand over to lay on top of Jonquil’s. He slots his fingers between the other Exo’s, and for once, he doesn’t feel the urge to turn away when his companion finally turns to meet eyes with him.

There’s no reason to pretend that he isn’t watching him, anymore.

“I can do better than that,” he responds, and squeezes the hand under his own. “Those scars are pretty badass.”

Jonquil blinks at him, antennae slotted tight against the sides of his head, before a huff flutters out of him. It shakes towards a laugh, and before Banshee can stop himself, he finds himself chuckling, too.

“Was that more Shakespeare?” Jonquil teases, and Banshee groans, wiping a hand over his face.

“I hoped you wouldn’t catch onto that.”

“I’m very smart,” the botanist replies, head tilted up in a faux-haughty expression. Banshee glows a grin at him.

“Yeah, I know.”

He settles himself closer, enough to get comfortable, and watches as Jonquil blows out a long breath.

“So,” his companion says suddenly, voice low and full of the kind of promise that makes Banshee straighten up a little, “you gonna tell me about the rifle?”

Banshee snorts. “That’s third date talk. This whole thing just a plot to learn about the rifle? I knew it.”

Jonquil laughs, turning the hand under Banshee’s so it faces upward. Their fingers slot together more naturally. “You caught me.”

“‘Sides, a little bird told me you’re a lot more interested in talking to me about golden age plants,” Banshee continues, and Jonquil whirls on him with wide eyes.

 _“That_ is third date talk,” he says, scandalized, and Banshee finds himself laughing again, rusty, broken and unused to the motion, but… real. Real.

Neither of them seem to have much experience with this. Banshee can still feel his internal misgivings twisting inside him like a snake, telling him that this won’t last, that it’ll die before it gets its feet off the ground. Everyone dies, eventually, everyone he cares about. He’ll always be the last one standing.

But sitting next to the most lively thing he’s ever met, hearing a laugh that makes plants grow… well.

Maybe something can bloom here, if he lets it.

He lays his head on Jonquil’s shoulder, and he feels warm.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to commission me for a fic, my info on it is [here](https://twitter.com/gaydameron/status/929478410321190913)!
> 
> Bad Moon's update is coming in a day or two! <3


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